


Wanting Everything

by jadztone



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Multi, Parentlock, Pining John, Pregnant, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, post-s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 13:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11381634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadztone/pseuds/jadztone
Summary: John and Rosie are living in Baker Street again, after the events of TFP.  John is trying to work up the courage to tell Sherlock how he feels.  When he finds out Molly is pregnant, he fears that he is too late.





	Wanting Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with the idea of this fic from the May Sherlock Challenge at sherlockchallenge.tumblr.com. The theme was mothers/fathers. I started writing it in May, but didn't have time to finish to enter the contest, so I've spent the past couple of months working on it and finally posting it on here. It's my first fanfic on AO3! Woo! I've written some things on tumblr, which I plan to transfer over to here shortly.

John watched idly as Sherlock’s long, nimble fingers fiddled with the settings on the machine that would soon begin analyzing the sample that he’d scraped from underneath the fingernails of the murder victim.  It was a familiar tableau.  How many times have they sat in this lab as Sherlock examined sample after sample of detritus from crime scenes?  Most of the activities that took place here were mundane.  But as John reminisced, he realized just how many important bits of their friendship have happened in this very room.  It was in this room where they laid eyes on each other for the first time.  It was also where they laid eyes on Moriarty for the first time, though they didn’t know it then.  It was where their last conversation took place before Sherlock went up to meet Moriarty on the roof.  That interchange haunted John for months after, remembering how their last words to each other face to face had been an argument…had been John calling him a machine.  He’d wondered if his accusatory words were the catalyst that led Sherlock to go up to the roof.  The guilt burned within him so badly that he’d gotten an ulcer, which he then left untreated for a stupid amount of time as self-punishment. 

John squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to think about that time.  But then another bad memory of the lab came unbidden - when Sherlock was tested for drugs during the Magnussen case, and Molly slapped him upon realizing just what he’d consumed.  John still wasn’t sure that Sherlock’s only reason for taking the drugs had been to manipulate Magnussen.  He could have come up with some other way to establish a weakness for Magnussen to exploit, one that wouldn’t have been destructive to his body.  John wondered sometimes if Sherlock had turned back to drugs because John had been so preoccupied with newly married life and he’d felt lonely and abandoned.  Or was John being arrogant to think that his marriage would have affected Sherlock so much?  John wondered.  He wondered a lot these days about what Sherlock really felt for him.  Whether his love for John that he so beautifully expressed in his best man speech was strictly platonic in nature. 

“John, I need that other sample.”  Sherlock held out his hand, while his eyes remained steady on the device in front of him.  John fetched the baggie and placed it in Sherlock’s outstretched palm.  Sherlock’s fingers twitched, closing over John’s before he had the chance to pull away.  John could have tugged harder to release his hand from Sherlock’s, but found that he didn’t want to break the contact.  Sherlock looked up from the machine, staring owlishly down at their joined hands.  He glanced up at John, who gave a little half smirk of amusement.  Sherlock bit his lip and unfurled his fingers, releasing John from his grip.  Frowning slightly, he turned back to the machine and began preparing another sample to analyze.    

John went back to his stool, sighing inwardly.  Here, just now, was one more in a growing number of oddly charged moments between the two of them, usually resulting from accidental touching or closer than usual proximity.  Each time the moment passed, he found himself wishing that he’d taken advantage of the situation to turn the touch into a caress, or close the gap into an embrace.  This desire to make a move on Sherlock has been building ever since he came back to Baker Street.  He’d felt it before, when he stayed there after Mary shot Sherlock.  But he ruthlessly squashed it down because the timing of it was terrible.  For one thing, he had to figure out what he wanted to do about Mary and the baby.  For another thing, Sherlock was single-mindedly focused on Magnussen and didn’t seem to even notice that something had changed between the two of them. 

Timing wasn’t a problem now.  There were no more villains, no more ghosts - nothing but years stretched out before them filled with possibilities.  Raising his child was a given, but other than that…if there was ever going to be a time to address these feelings for Sherlock, it was now.  Perhaps right here in this room that had seen so many other significant crossroads in their life.  The room could use another happy memory, assuming of course that Sherlock would have a happy reaction to being kissed by John. 

John nervously fidgeted with the little notebook he’d been scribbling case details in moments ago.  He was paralyzed with fear about taking this step.  He cursed himself for being such a hypocrite, remembering how he’d lectured Sherlock about Irene.  “Do something while there’s still a chance, because that chance doesn’t last forever. Trust me, Sherlock. it’s gone before you know it.”  And yet here he was, not doing something while there was still a chance.  _If_ there was a chance.  John sighed.  Why did he keep second-guessing this?  Every time he thought about whether Sherlock could love him in that way, he came to the conclusion that he _did_.  Sherlock loved him, and it was the reason why he never did more than text Irene.  Because he didn’t want that with her, he wanted it with _John_.  But he was clearly waiting for John to make the first move, and John was too terrified.  Terrified that he was actually wrong. 

If he was wrong, one of two things would happen.  Sherlock would ask him to leave, which was unlikely.  Or they’d just resume their friendship with the expectation that the subject would never come up again.  Except John wouldn’t be able pretend that he hadn’t laid bare his heart.  He’d feel exposed, like a live wire.  He’d be hyper aware of every word that he said or action he took, worried it would be taken the wrong way by a wary Sherlock.  He’d be scraped raw over and over, and it would hurt far worse than the hidden pining he currently endured.  It would eventually be so unbearable that he’d have to leave Baker Street.  And this time it wouldn’t just be his own heart he’d be breaking – Rosie would be uprooted yet again.  It was important to John that they stay where they were.  Baker Street was a place that she could call home, and have the love of not just her father, but Sherlock too.  As long as John didn’t mess things up. 

John mentally kicked himself for using Rosie as an excuse for his hesitation.  She probably wouldn’t thank him for repressing his feelings just for her sake.  If the situation were reversed and she were a young lady scared to address her feelings, he’d want her to be brave.  He’d counsel her to take the chance.  John watched as Sherlock finished prepping the machine and turned it on so it would begin to analyze the samples.  Good, he’d have Sherlock’s full attention now.  While the machine did its thing, there would be time to talk.  Or kiss.  Or whatever it was that was going to happen, because John wasn’t sure how to approach this at all.  But he had to do something and now was the time.  John stood up, squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath.

Before he could speak, Sherlock’s head snapped up and his eyes widened.  “Oh!  Of course!  How could I be so stupid?  John, we need to go see Molly right now.”  Sherlock whipped around and snatched up his suit jacket. 

John cleared his throat.  “Can it wait?  There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Sherlock strode towards the door.  “Nope!  We need to get down there before she finishes autopsying the victim.  You know how she is once she’s finished, she doesn’t like opening them back up.  There’s something I forgot to look for, so we need to do this now.”  John sighed and trailed after him.  Well, apparently their big moment wasn’t going to happen in the lab after all. 

As John approached the door to the lab, Sherlock suddenly paused and half turned back towards John, placing one arm into the sleeve of his suit jacket.  Not realizing he was going to stop, John ran right into him.  He automatically put his hands up on Sherlock’s torso.  Sherlock’s hands went to John’s shoulders to steady him, his suit jacket only halfway on with one sleeve hanging down.  John swallowed hard and dropped his hands quickly, already missing the feel of Sherlock’s abdominal muscles against his fingers.  “Sorry, um.  Didn’t realize you were going to stop.” 

Sherlock let go of his shoulders, and resumed putting on his jacket unhurriedly.  John wondered if he should step back to give Sherlock more space.  He briefly considered the idea of boldly reaching out to help Sherlock button his jacket and straighten his lapel, just to see what Sherlock’s reaction would be.  He looked up.  Sherlock’s gaze was assessing.  Could he read John’s thoughts?  Did he deduce what John was considering?  After a moment (too long of a moment it seemed), John’s fingers aching to reach out, Sherlock finally brought his hands up to button his jacket and then swipe down the front to smooth any wrinkles.  John wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw disappointment in Sherlock’s eyes as he turned towards the door again and exited the lab.

When they reached the morgue, Sherlock was delighted to see that the victim was still mid-autopsy.  The morgue assistant, Devin, was measuring organs.   Molly was nowhere to be seen.  Sherlock put on some gloves and approached the murder victim.   Devin shook his head.  “Stop where you are.  You know the rules – no touching the bodies unless Molly is here to supervise.”

Sherlock gave him an aggravated look.  “Well, where is she?”

Devin shrugged.  “She went to go vomit.  Third time this morning.”

John frowned.  “Wait, really?  What could have triggered it?”  Nothing with the body looked out of the ordinary.  He sniffed the air, which was no more malodorous than usual. 

Sherlock looked similarly confused.  “No, it can’t be the body that made her ill.  I have _never_ seen Molly be sick over a dead body.  Not even the one that washed up from the Thames last summer.  She has an iron constitution.”  His tone was one of high regard.  Typical that Sherlock would appreciate such a trait.

Devin nodded in agreement.  “I think maybe it’s the flu.  She’s been puking several days now, and she’s tired _all_ the time.”

John shook his head.  “No, anytime she’s sick, she stays home.  A few years ago she came in with the flu and Lestrade caught it from her.  Then Donovan got it from him, then Anderson got it from her.  Molly was mortified and never came in sick again.”

Sherlock chuckled, “I remember.  It was _hilarious_.  Anderson was so green, and you were calling him Kermit.”  John laughed as well.

Molly walked in at that moment, carrying a cup from the cafeteria.  Devin stripped off his gloves and removed his blood-streaked apron.  “Oh good, you’re back.  You can babysit these two.  I need to go get another saw blade, this one’s too blunt,”  he said as he headed to the morgue supply room. 

John tilted his head as he observed Molly.  She did look extremely peaked.  Sherlock glided over to her.  “Is that from Cuppa Joe’s?  What beans are they using today?”  John rolled his eyes.  Ever since Bart’s opened up a coffee kiosk in the cafeteria, Sherlock and Molly had become obsessed, turning into coffee connoisseurs.

A tiny spot of color appeared in Molly’s pale cheeks.  “No, it’s um….it’s herbal tea.”

Sherlock looked thunderstruck.  “Herbal tea?  You never drink tea at work.  You always drink coffee.  No matter what time of day, no matter how you’re feeling.  And when you do have tea at home, it’s always earl grey.  Never _herbal_ tea.”  John would normally be amused by Sherlock’s expression of disgust, but he was slightly distracted by what Sherlock said.  How did he know what Molly drank at home?  John knew, because he’d seen the box sitting out on the counter when he dropped off Rosie one time.  Sherlock continued his diatribe.  “What’s gotten into you, Molly?  First you come into work with flu-like symptoms, now you’re drinking herbal tea instead of your usual caffeine fix.  If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were…”  Sherlock’s eyes widened and then he whispered, “pregnant.”

The tiny spots of color grew until her whole face was flushed.  The gaze she leveled on Sherlock seemed to be equal parts annoyance that he’d deduced her, and an attempt to convey a silent message. 

John covered his shock at this revelation by clearing his throat.  “Sherlock, what have I said about revealing people’s secrets?  This is a bit not good.”

Molly shook her head.  “It’s okay, John.  I was planning to tell Sherlock today anyway.  I should have known he’d deduce it before I could even open my mouth.”  She smiled weakly and sipped her tea, once again gazing meaningfully at Sherlock over the rim of her cup.

John could tell there was something going on here, but was half afraid to come to any conclusion.  He put on his brightest smile and walked over to Molly and hugged her.  “Well congratulations, Molly.  I’m very happy for you.  Given how you are with Rosie, I know you’ll make a terrific mother.  It’s a bit of a surprise though, yeah?  I didn’t even know you were dating.  Usually you shout it from the rooftops when you’re seeing someone.” 

Molly’s smile faltered and she shrugged.  “Yes, and look at how well those relationships turned out.  Figured discretion might work better this time around.”  She looked up at Sherlock. 

A silence followed, during which John waited for her to elaborate on who she was dating.  Instead she and Sherlock just stared at each other.  Something seemed to shift in Sherlock’s gaze.  John recognized it as a deduction having landed.  But instead of his usual “Oh!” or a triumphant blurting out of the facts, he glanced over at John and then back at Molly.  John wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn she shook her head.  It was only the barest of movements.  She sipped her tea again. 

Sherlock took John’s hand and lifted it, moving his sleeve up slightly to look at the time on his watch.  John felt tiny goosebumps where Sherlock’s fingers brushed against his wrist.  “John, would you mind running up to the lab to check on my samples?  Text me the results.  I still need to get what I came down here for.”  He waved a hand towards the victim lying on the autopsy table.

John nodded.  “Of course.”  Sherlock dropped John’s hand and went back to gazing at Molly.  John hesitated a moment, then left the morgue.  It had been a perfectly normal request.  Sherlock was always asking him to run up to the lab for something or other.  But he knew that this particular sample had at least another 15 minutes left to process.  Sherlock wanted him to leave so he could talk to Molly alone. 

John found himself fixated on Molly’s phrasing.  She said she’d been planning to tell Sherlock today.  Specifically Sherlock.  And she’d given him meaningful glances.  And refused to talk about who she was dating.  And now Sherlock wanted to talk to her alone.

John stabbed the button for the elevator, a cold dread squeezing his heart.  It couldn’t possibly be…could it?  What other explanation could there be for their behavior? 

After Sherrinford, John had formed what he thought were pretty solid conclusions regarding the exchange between Sherlock and Molly during their captivity.  Sherlock only told her he loved her to save her life, and made it sound so convincing because it was the only way to get her to say it in return.  John had told himself that Sherlock’s destruction of the coffin afterwards was anger over being forced to tell such an intimate and emotionally fraught lie to a friend who didn’t deserved to be deceived like that.  But what if John got it all wrong?  What if it hadn’t been a lie?  Maybe Sherlock had realized at that moment that he really did love her, and destroying the coffin was his frustration that he’d only now discovered it when he might never see her again. 

As soon as they had returned to London, Sherlock went to see Molly to explain the reason for his odd behavior on the phone.  What had happened between them that day?  All John knew was that she seemed to forgive Sherlock, and in the months since, she appeared to be quite happy.  Certainly much happier than when they watched her on the screen sullenly preparing her tea.

John stopped in the hallway outside of the lab, feeling dizzy.  He leaned against the wall and took deep breaths.  Was she so happy because she’d finally gotten what she wanted?  It seemed that the answer to that was yes.  John felt a stinging in his eyes, which he desperately tried to blink away as several nurses passed him in the hallway.  He forced himself to enter the lab, so he could deal with this privately. 

As he went through the doorway and closed it behind him, he was reminded of earlier when he had come so close declaring himself.  Oh god, that would have been a disaster.  He flushed at the thought of Sherlock responding to him, “I’m so sorry John, but I don’t feel the same way.  I love Molly, and I took your advice to do something while there was still a chance.  And now we’re together.”  John took a ragged breath, feeling an odd mix of relief that he hadn’t made a fool of himself and grief that he’d missed _his_ chance with Sherlock.  And also hurt that two people he cared about had apparently been keeping their relationship a secret from him. 

It didn’t make sense, neither the how nor the why.  _How_ had they kept it a secret?  John was living with Sherlock now, and working with him on cases.  John saw Molly frequently, both at work and from her generous offers to babysit.  They would have had to go to incredible lengths to hide their relationship.  And that led to the why.  _Why_ go to all that trouble?  Why keep it a secret from him?  Maybe they thought he was still grieving Mary and didn’t want to rub their happiness in his face?  Plausible, but only barely.  It’s one thing to be discreet to spare someone’s feelings, it’s another to engage in active deception.  While it was true that Sherlock and Molly had conspired to deceive him before, that had been a matter of life or death.  Love wasn’t something that should necessitate secrecy.

Given the holes in this new theory, John began to feel some hope that he’d made the wrong deduction after all.  Sherlock and Molly weren’t together.  He wasn’t the father.  There was something going on, that was certain, but it wasn’t that.  Sherlock was always telling him that he sees but does not observe.  John squared his shoulders.  He needed more data.  Ideally he needed them to just come out with it.  Maybe Sherlock would be forthcoming after he finished his tete-a-tete with Molly. 

John tried to clear his mind and focus.  Sherlock had asked him to do a favor.  And while it may have been a diversionary tactic, he would at least follow through with the request.  John went over to the machine and checked on the sample.  To his surprise, he saw that it was finished earlier than usual.  Maybe Sherlock had known the analysis would finish early and so this wasn’t a tactic after all.  John texted the display readout to Sherlock.

**Excellent.  We’re done here for today.  Meet me out front.  SH**

John was startled by this, but decided not to question it.  The sooner they were back at Baker Street, the sooner he could get some answers out of Sherlock.

When John got to the entrance of Bart’s, Sherlock was already waiting in a cab.  John climbed in and the cab immediately sped off.  They sat in silence for a few minutes, John hoping Sherlock would just come out with it.  Instead, the detective stared out the window.  John cleared his throat.  “So, that’s amazing news about Molly, yeah?  She really will make a great mother.”

Sherlock said softly yet dismissively, “Yes, she will.”

John tapped his finger against his knee.  Looks like he was going to have to ask outright.  “I’m sure you’ve already deduced who the father is.”  He laughed awkwardly.

Sherlock’s lips tightened in annoyance.  After a moment, he said in a mocking tone.  “Weren’t you just scolding me about revealing people’s secrets, John?  Molly will say who it is when she’s ready.”

John felt heat suffuse his face.  “Quite right,” he ground out.  Well.  He’d been firmly put in his place.  And apparently it was his place to be kept in the dark about Molly’s love life.  _But why_?  What possible reason would she have to not want John to know?  That shake of the head she gave Sherlock - she explicitly did not want John to know. 

John found himself mentally examining his friendship with her.  He’d always thought they were close.  She’d attended his wedding, was godmother to Rosie.  Although maybe she’d been closer to Mary than to him.  Did she even like him? John began to think she had no reason to.  After all, she loved Sherlock and many of the terrible things Sherlock has been through were because of John.  He faked his death to protect John.  He’d pumped himself full of drugs because of John.  John winced as he remembered Molly in tears after delivering his note of rejection to Sherlock after Mary’s death.  He’d been too caught up in his own pain to realize what an awful thing it had been to ask of her.  Then there was the fact that he’d beaten the crap out of Sherlock when he was already half dead from drugs.  Jesus.  Anyone in her position would probably hate his guts, and he wouldn’t blame her one bit.  Clearly all this time she’s been maintaining a façade of politeness for her goddaughter’s sake. 

As they pulled up to Baker Street, Sherlock made no move to get out, just continued to stare out the window.  “You go on, John, I have to go see Mycroft.”

John frowned.  “Mycroft?  Did he text you about a case?”

Sherlock shook his head absently.  “No, I texted him.  I need to see him about some family business.”

John raised his eyebrows.  “Family business?  Do you want me to come along?” 

Sherlock turned slowly to face him, his expression closed off.  “You need to pick up Rosie from Mrs. Hudson.  She’s been fussy all day and I’m sure Mrs. Hudson will be wanting her herbal soother.”  He looked back out the window.

John exited the cab and watched as it glided away.  Was it mere coincidence that right after learning that Molly is pregnant, Sherlock goes to see Mycroft on family business?  And refused to mention just what that business was?  For months now Sherlock had invited John into every intimate corner of his life, saying that he considered him to be family.  But now all of a sudden John is being shut out?

John fetched Rosie from Mrs. Hudson and then trudged up the stairs to 221B.  He set Rosie down in her high chair and prepared her afternoon meal.  He tried to shake away his hurt feelings, reminding himself that he wasn’t entitled to know everything that happened in other people’s lives.  Not even Sherlock’s.  Not only was he _not_ entitled, he wasn’t sure he even deserved the inclusion that Sherlock had already given him. 

John still felt he hadn’t completely atoned for his actions after Mary’s death, though they’d come a long way.  John was seeing a new therapist, one that had been thoroughly vetted by Mycroft.  He was working through his anger, developing new coping skills.  Sherlock had been thoroughly annoyed by John’s need to talk to him about what he’d done to him and apologize, but went along with it knowing that it was part of John’s healing process.  John wished that Sherlock would himself see a therapist so he would stop believing that he had deserved John’s treatment of him.  When John found out that Sherlock had gone to Ella, he’d been surprised.  But he encouraged Sherlock to continue seeing her – a suggestion that Sherlock shut down immediately.  As far as he was concerned, he had John back and so she wasn’t needed anymore. 

Rosie was indeed fussy, and after a brief examination John noted that she was running a slight fever.  Probably just a cold, there weren’t any other troubling symptoms.  He gave her some fever reducer and soon after she finished her meal she conked out.  He put her in her crib and came back to the sitting room to work on his blog, trying not to think about Molly and Sherlock.

When Sherlock returned, he immediately began pacing the sitting room.  John cleared his throat.  “How did it go with Mycroft?”  Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.  John sighed.  Looks like the shutting out would continue.  He went back to typing on his laptop.

Sherlock stopped his pacing.  “John...  What progress have you made on acquiring a nanny for Rosie?”

“Oh, erm, I’ve contacted the agency Mycroft recommended and gave them the requirements.  They are putting together a list of nannies to interview.”

Sherlock gave a short nod.  “Get in touch with them again and tell them that your requirements have changed.  The nanny will now have two charges in her care.  Rosie and Molly’s baby.”

John stared at him in amazement.  “Molly’s baby?  You want the nanny to take care of them both?”

Sherlock raised one eyebrow.  “Obviously.  Molly will continue to work at Bart’s, so she’ll need someone to look after her child.  It’s more economical to have one nanny looking after two children than to have two separate nannies.  Then there’s the benefit of the two having each other as playmates.”

John stared at Sherlock.  Was Sherlock doing this because it was typical of him to take control, such as the way he had micro-managed John’s wedding?  Or was he doing this because he was the father?  “Erm, what does Molly think of the idea of sharing a nanny?”

Sherlock waved his hand again.  “Oh, she’ll see the logic in it.”  He perused the room, his brow wrinkled as if he were looking for something.

John folded his arms.  “And what about the father?  Will he see the logic in it?” 

Sherlock frowned even further.  “John, did you bring the sample from the lab?”

John sighed.  “It’s on the kitchen table.”  He knew the conversation was over now that Sherlock was back in work mode. 

Sherlock’s face brightened as he spotted the carrying case.  He took out the sample and began to prepare it for the microscope, murmuring, “Yes, this is excellent.  It came out splendidly.”  Once he had a smear affixed to a slide, he put it under the microscope and began examining it.  After a couple minutes he exclaimed, “No.  No, no, no, that won’t do at all.”

John looked up from the laptop.  “Something wrong with the sample?”

Sherlock gave him an exasperated look.  “I said it came out splendidly.  Pay attention!  No, I’m thinking about Molly’s flat.  It’s much too small for her and a baby.  She only has one bedroom.  It’s ridiculously tiny.  She needs to move out.”

John blinked.  “How did you know she only has one bedroom?”

Sherlock went back to peering into the microscope.  “I’ve used it as a bolt-hole, remember?  When I left the hospital to plan my confrontation with Mary.”

John’s eyes widened. “ _That’s_ where you were?  You never said.”  Sherlock shrugged.  “So you’re saying that while we were out looking for you, terrified that you might be bleeding out from your gunshot wound, you were kipping on Molly’s sofa?”

Sherlock withdrew the slide and began to prepare another slide from the sample.  “No, I kipped in her bed.  Pass me that pipette over there.”  He held out his hand towards the sideboard where he kept some of his supplies.

John felt all the air leave his lungs.  Mechanically he shuffled over to the sideboard and fetched the pipette, placing it in Sherlock’s outstretched hand.  This time he snatched his fingers away before Sherlock’s could close over them again.  “I’m uh…gonna go check on Rosie.”  He practically tripped over his feet as he turned to go up the staircase to his room.  Once inside, he closed the door and sat unsteadily on the bed.  So, was this the final proof?  He just admitted to sleeping with her.  And this meant it started _before_ Sherrinford. 

Except…except it still didn’t make sense.  The whole time that Sherlock was recuperating in Baker Street, it had been John who took care of him.  Molly came to visit, but not more often than usual.  Surely if they had begun a relationship, she’d have taken over Sherlock’s care?  Or at least spent more time with him.  John clenched his fist in frustration.  Every new piece of data seemed to point to Sherlock being the father, but also came with contradictions.  John knew part of the problem was that he couldn’t be objective.  Sherlock was right about love being a crack in the lens.  His ability to analyze the situation was hopelessly compromised.

John took deep breaths and tried to clear his mind of the jealousy and panic threatening to overwhelm him.  Okay, so the main argument against them being in an ongoing relationship was how out of character and impractical it would be for them to keep such a relationship a secret.  Except he couldn’t ignore the fact that Molly _was_ in a secret relationship with _someone_.  She admitted as much.  “Figured discretion might work better this time around.”   And then she’d looked at Sherlock.  And now Sherlock was clamming up about who it was.  As out of character as it would seem, it was happening.  A secret _was_ being kept.  And all the other circumstantial evidence pointed to one thing – Sherlock was the relationship she was keeping secret.  Sherlock was the father of her baby.

John fought against the despair that threatened to overwhelm him.  The hope he’d been nursing, that he had Sherlock’s heart, was now crushed.  But it was worse than that.  The main reason he hadn’t told Sherlock he loves him was because it was more important that he be able to live with him in 221B and they would raise Rosie together.  They would at least have that, if nothing else ever came of their relationship.  But now even that was no longer a possibility.  Sherlock had a responsibility to his own child, and it was clear earlier when he talked about Molly’s flat that the obvious solution was to move her to 221B.  Two bedrooms.  One for Molly and Sherlock, and this room for the baby.  John and Rosie would have to move out. 

John took several deep breaths and tried to control his emotions and be pragmatic.  If that was how this was going to play out, then Sherlock and Molly needed to make that clear and stop hiding behind secrecy.  The baby would be here in a matter of months.  If John was going to be asked to leave, he needed to know now so he could make arrangements.  Whatever reason Molly had for keeping it a secret, he didn’t deserve to be left hanging.

Squaring his shoulders, John attempted to school his features to be as matter-of-fact as possible.  He needed to approach this with careful neutrality.  Sherlock was going to be a father.  This was a positive thing.  Sherlock had a chance for happiness and John wasn’t going to ruin it with his disappointment.  He went back down the stairs. 

“Sherlock, we need to talk.”  Sherlock glanced up, his expression annoyed at being interrupted.  But annoyance soon melted into concern as he took in John’s countenance.

“John? What’s wrong?  You’re very upset.  Did something happen to Rosie?”

Well, so much for attempting to look neutral.  “Rosie’s fine.  She has a slight cold, I gave her some medicine, she’s having a nap.”  Sherlock’s expression became guarded.  He probably thought he had done something wrong to warrant John being upset.  “Sherlock, normally I am all for respecting someone’s privacy and I would never force anyone to divulge a secret.  _Unless_ that secret affects me and my family.  In that case, I have a right to know. “

“What secret?”   Sherlock was utterly bewildered.

“Molly’s baby.”

Sherlock blinked in surprise.  “How would her baby affect you?  Wait, is this about the nanny?  Did I overstep?  I was just trying to use my reasoning skills to help....”

John interrupted.  “Oh, come on, this is about way more than the nanny, Sherlock.  I deduced it, okay?  I know that you and Molly are together and that you are the father of her baby.”  He tried to keep his voice from cracking with emotion as he said this, he really did try.  But failed.

Sherlock’s eyes widened.  “You’ve concluded that _I’m_ the father?”  He appeared to process this for a moment, then he frowned.  “Me being a father…that upsets you?”

John shook his head vehemently.  “No!  Not at all!  The way you are with Rosie, the way you look at her…..no.  I would never be upset by the idea of you having a child of your own and experiencing the same joy I have.  I know you would be a wonderful father.”

Sherlock’s face reddened and he appeared at a loss for words.  But then he seemed to come back to the matter at hand.  “Well something about this….this revelation of yours has made you distraught.  It’s not the idea of me being a father.  Is it how I became a father?  If I’m the father of Molly’s baby, that would mean that she and I had sex.  Are you upset by the idea of Molly and I having sex?”

Trying to ignore the flush rising up his neck, he evaded the question.  “Look, I’m being selfish, okay?  I don’t want to leave here.  And I know that’s what you were leading up to earlier talking about Molly’s flat.  And it makes sense, Sherlock.  It’s perfectly logical – the two of you raising your child here in 221B.  I don’t want to move,” His voice hitched a bit, “but it’s the right thing to do.  And I’d rather do it now when Rosie is too young to become attached to this place.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched.  “You’re not leaving Baker Street.  Not again.  I just got you back.”

John shivered slightly at the way the words sounded…how he wanted them to sound.  “Sherlock, you know she needs to be here with you.  I can try to find someplace nearby.  Maybe something will open up somewhere on Baker Street in the next few months.  Or…you know what, we can finally do something about the basement flat.  The contractors that put this place back together did a fine job, I’m sure they can do something about the damp.”

Sherlock’s expression became even more stubborn.  “You’re not leaving 221B!  Not even to move two floors down!  John, there’s no need for Molly to live in this flat because I’m not the father of her child.”

John blinked, completely off-kilter.  “But all the evidence…”

“Evidence?  There’s evidence for your preposterous conclusion?  This I’ve got to hear.”

John folded his arms and gave Sherlock his best you-are-such-a-cock glare.  “Fine.  How about the fact that as soon as you deduced she was pregnant, Molly’s eyes never left your face and she said that she had planned to tell you about it today.  You, not us.  You.  Then it was obvious that she wanted to speak to you alone, so you sent me upstairs to the lab.  Then later you dropped me back here so you can go see Mycroft about ‘family business’ that you wouldn’t elaborate on, even though you keep saying that I’m your family, too.”  John’s voice cracked again, but he cleared his throat and kept on.  “Then you came back here and immediately started micro-managing her baby’s future, with talk about the nanny and the too-small flat.  And then to top it off, the most important clue of all, is that you _admitted you’ve been sleeping with her_.” He ground the last bit out.

Sherlock drew back in incredulity.  “I did no such thing!”

“Sherlock, you sat right there and told me you slept in her bed!”

“Yes, I _slept_ there!  That’s it!  Come on, John!  You really think I was in any shape to have sex when I had a bullet hole in my abdomen?”

John exhaled, his nostrils flaring.  “Maybe there wasn’t sex, not _then_ , but sleeping in someone’s bed with them is a level of intimacy far beyond friendship.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.  “I’ve shared a bed with you before, and you never took it to mean we were more than friends.”

John swallowed hard at what sounded like disappointment in Sherlock’s tone.  “We shared a bed when we were away on cases and there were no other options.  Molly has a couch, you could have slept there.  Unless you’re telling me _she_ slept on the couch in her own flat.”  He scoffed at the idea.  Sherlock looked slightly abashed, and John stared at him incredulously.  “Jesus, Sherlock.  You made Molly sleep on her couch while you took the bed?”

“I had a bullet hole in my abdomen, it was more comfortable!”

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Look, maybe your relationship didn’t start _then_ , but there’s still the other evidence I mentioned that points to you being the father.  And I can’t ignore…”  John pressed his lips together for a moment.  “I can’t ignore the way you told her you loved her at Sherrinford.”  Sherlock looked away from him, his own lips tightening.  “I told myself at the time you were just acting.  You’ve always been very convincing when putting on a role for a case.  But honestly it didn’t seem possible that you could fake the raw emotion I heard in your voice.  But if it _weren’t_ fake…if your words were genuine…well, it makes sense now.”

Sherlock shook his head and said quietly, “It _was_ genuine.  It just wasn’t meant for Molly.”

John frowned.  “What does that mean?”

Sherlock started pacing.  “Never mind.  The point is that I am not in love with Molly.  We did not have sex.  I’m not the father of her baby.  Look, I admit the evidence _seems_ to point that way.  I realize now how you could have come to your conclusion.”  John lifted his chin at the acknowledgement.  “But it was still completely wrong!”  Sherlock flopped down on the sofa.  “I want to tell you who the father is, John.  I really do.  And I’m _really_ annoyed that I’ve been told not to.”

John hung his head.  “Does Molly really hate me that much?  I mean, I can’t blame her, I guess.  But…wow, she’s done a good job of hiding it.”

Sherlock looked exasperated.  “What are you on about, now?  Why do you think Molly hates you?”

“Why else would she force you to keep it a secret from me?  Look, I get it.  All the times you’ve endangered yourself on my behalf – faking your death, taking drugs.  And then the way I treated you after Mary died.  If our roles were reversed, I don’t think I could even pretend to be civil.”

Sherlock gusted out a sigh.  “Molly doesn’t hate you.  She was really angry with you after the incident in the morgue, but she knows you’re working to redeem yourself just like _I’m_ working to redeem myself for taking the drugs.  She’s forgiven the both of us for our bad behavior.  She’s not the one forcing the secret.”

John took a deep breath.  “So, it’s the father?  Does he have a problem with me, personally?  Or is it that he doesn’t want _anyone_ to know?”

Sherlock tilted his head back and forth.  “He doesn’t want anyone to know, but there is a bit of spitefulness involved with keeping you in the dark.”

John rubbed the back of his neck.  “So, it’s someone I know who doesn’t like me.  Anderson?  Ugh, please don’t let it be him.” 

The look on Sherlock’s face was so appalled that John burst out laughing.  He felt lighter than he had in hours, now that he knew there was nothing between Sherlock and Molly.  He was so relieved that he almost didn’t care who was the father, but he was still curious. 

Sherlock chuckled as well, but then gave an impatient gesture with his hand.  “Come on, John.  Think!  Some of that evidence that supposedly pointed towards me…you’re really close to getting it.”

John sat next to Sherlock on the couch and rubbed his face.  “I honestly don’t know who would dislike me enough to spite me.  Dimmock?”

Sherlock groaned and ruffled his hair in annoyance.  “No, not him.  The father doesn’t dislike you.  He’s just being petty.  Look, I get why you wouldn’t immediately think of him.  I’d sooner imagine a fish knowing how to juggle.”

A fish knowing how to juggle.  So, someone that he wouldn’t normally think of as being in a romantic relationship.  Someone who needed to keep that relationship a secret from anyone except Sherlock.  And Sherlock wasn’t allowed to tell John, but apparently he could go to Mycroft of all people… 

Suddenly John felt really stupid for not getting it earlier.  _Mycroft_.  It all fit.  Wow…Mycroft and Molly?  Mycroft _having sex with_ Molly?  John felt a little dizzy.  Juggling fish indeed.  He’d never thought of Mycroft as even being _capable_ of urges, much less acting on them.

Sherlock could see by his shocked expression that he’d figured out it and beamed at him.  “Oops, I guess the cat’s out of the bag!  No sense keeping it a secret anymore.  I’m going to be an uncle!” 

John ran his fingers through his hair.  “How the hell did this come about?”

Sherlock leaned forward to tell him all about it.  “Apparently the two of them have been seeing each other since about a month after we got back from Sherrinford.  Mycroft realized as he watched her on that screen that he’d never properly thanked her for her role in faking my death.  He went to visit her and brought her a gift.  They talked for a long time and then he took her out to dinner, one thing led to another, etcetera.”

He leaned back on the sofa.  “Turns out she has a thing for geniuses.  She realized it after she started dating Tom, who may have looked like me but was clearly an idiot.  Remember that time she slapped me, she said that my brain was beautiful.  So, it really wasn’t a stretch that she’d be drawn to Mycroft’s _big brain_.”  Sherlock winked.  “Unlike me, Mycroft is straight, so he actually responded to her flirting like I never did.” 

John’s eyes widened at this.  Did Sherlock just _finally_ admit oh-so-casually that he was gay?   Sherlock went on like he hadn’t just dropped a significant detail about himself.  “Mycroft confessed to me that he doesn’t see her as a goldfish like he thought he would.  He’s actually fallen in love with her.  And now she’s going to have his baby.  They can’t tell anyone he’s the father because the child would instantly become a target for his numerous enemies.”  


John leaned back, hardly able to take it all in.  He exhaled and shook his head.  “Okay, I can understand he doesn’t want to advertise it and make the baby a target.  But why not let _me_ know?  What did I do to piss him off?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “You didn’t do anything, John.  He’s still annoyed with me for insisting on involving you in the business with our sister.  He said that just because I consider you family doesn’t mean that you are part of _his_ family.” 

John was silent for a moment.  Mycroft’s pettiness didn’t offend him.  Mycroft liked being in control over his family secrets.  Sherlock wouldn’t let him keep the secret about their sister from John, so he was forcing Sherlock to keep this one.  But John couldn’t help thinking that Mycroft _would_ see him as family if he were married to Sherlock and not merely a friend.  Warmth flooded him at the idea of Sherlock being his husband.  He groaned inwardly.  It’s bad enough that he was lusting after Sherlock, wanting to take him to bed.  Now he was dreaming about making Sherlock his in name, too.  But he couldn’t help it.  He wanted _everything_.  He wanted all of Sherlock. 

Sherlock’s voice broke into his musings.  “I like your idea of remodeling 221C.  It would be perfect, it has two bedrooms just like this one.  Mrs. Hudson can certainly afford to get rid of the mold, she just never bothered because she’s not interested in strangers lurking around her home.  But she’d do it for Molly.”

John smiled.  “That’s a lovely idea.  Really lovely.  And you’ve sold me on the joint nanny.  Rosie and your niece or nephew.  They’d be like…cousins almost.”

Sherlock turned to him, his expression warm and soft.  Rosie had that effect on him.  And now the new little one was going to make him even softer.  John looked forward to it.

But then, just like that, the softness turned sharp.  He narrowed his eyes at John and steepled his fingers under his chin.  “You never answered my question earlier, when I asked you if the idea of Molly and I having sex upset you.  Your response was to answer a question I didn’t ask.  You were also very grim when you brought up my exchange with her in Sherrinford.”  Sherlock paused, his eyes boring into him.  John looked down, heart thundering, silently begging Sherlock to stop deducing him.  But he went on, his tone thoughtful.  “And now that I recall, when I first mentioned I slept in her bed you practically ran up to your room, even though Rosie hadn’t made a peep.”

John cleared his throat, but his voice was still rough when he said, “Sherlock, I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t want to move out so Molly could take my place, and I felt guilty about it.”

“I believe you, John.  But that wasn’t an answer to my question.”

John threw up his hands, “You wanted to know why I was upset, so I told you.”

“It wasn’t an open-ended question, John.  It was very specific, with a yes or no answer.  _Were you upset by the idea of Molly and I having sex_?”

This was it.  It was time to be brave.  Now that it was clear he wasn’t in a relationship with Molly, and that he was gay, the hope that Sherlock loved _him_ was back on the table.  There was only one way to find out, and Sherlock was giving him the opening.  “Yes, I was.”

Sherlock leaned forward, his gaze intent.  “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to be in love with her.”

“ _Why_?”

This was it.  No going back after this.  “I want you to be in love with me.”

Sherlock breathed out softly.  He looked down at his hands.  After several moments he said,  “Remember earlier I told you that when I said ‘I love you’ to Molly it was genuine, it just wasn’t meant for her.”

John swallowed.  “Yes, and I still don’t understand.”

“When she told me to say it like I mean it, I knew I was in trouble.  It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to fool Molly with insincerity.  I did the only thing I could do - I envisioned the person I really love when I said it.  It wasn’t all that difficult given that the monitor’s surface was reflective, and I could see you standing behind me.” He looked up again to meet John’s eyes.

John’s breath hitched.  “You were saying that to me?”  Sherlock nodded.  “ _Sherlock_.”  John closed his eyes, thinking about the way he’d sounded when he said the words.  Except the memory wasn’t enough.  He opened his eyes.  “Say it again, Sherlock.  Please.”

Sherlock slid closer to him on the sofa, and brought his hand up to curl his fingers around the back of John’s neck, the same way he had that time that he hugged John.  His face centimeters from John’s, he whispered, “I love you, John.”

John exhaled in relief. He’d taken the chance, and it had paid off.  He lifted his own hand to Sherlock’s face, cupping his jaw.  “I love you too, Sherlock.  I love you so much.”  Sherlock’s relief mirrored his own, and he tilted his head so that their foreheads were touching.  “Sherlock, I don’t know how you feel about this sort of thing, but I...”  He paused and licked his lips.  “Would…would you let me kiss you?”

Sherlock smirked.  “You have to ask?  I let Janine kiss me for a case, you think I wouldn’t extend you the same courtesy?”

John shook his head.  “I absolutely do not want our kiss to be anything like that…that travesty.”  He shuddered at the memory. 

Sherlock shook with silent laughter, and then shifted his head so that his lips were against John’s ear and whispered, “I theorize that my reaction to being kissed by the man I love will be much, much different than when it’s for a case.  Kiss me, John.  Put my theory to the test.”

John groaned at hearing him say “the man I love” and shivered at the ticklish feeling of Sherlock’s breath on his ear.  “Always the scientist.”  He turned his head slightly and captured Sherlock’s lips with his own.  John felt Sherlock’s fingers tighten on his neck, even as his other hand was snaking around John’s waist to pull him closer.  An encouraging sign.  John tilted his head slightly, and used his tongue to tease at Sherlock’s lips.  Sherlock opened for him, deepening the kiss.  Sherlock’s hypothesis was right.  His reaction to being kissed by John was much different than with Janine, going by the delightful sounds issuing from  his throat. 

John felt overwhelmed by happiness.  Sherlock loved him.  And he welcomed his kiss.  John wondered if he could dare hope that Sherlock would want to do other things with him.  John wanted e _verything_.  Maybe he could test the waters and guide Sherlock to a more prone position on the sofa.  But as he was having this idea, he came to the realization that _he_ was the one being lowered, and that Sherlock was now on top of him.  Oh _yes_.  This was even better.  Sherlock was the one taking it to the next level.  John let his hands trail down Sherlock’s torso, curving them around his back with the goal of reaching his gorgeous arse, when a high-pitched sound penetrated the fog of desire.  Oh god, it was Rosie.  She’d woken up from her nap.

Sherlock bolted upward and stood.  “I’ll go get her.”  His voice was deep, rough, and his chest was heaving, John was pleased to note.  Then he dashed up the stairs. 

John sat upright on the sofa, his own breath stuttering.  After a few moments, Sherlock was downstairs again, Rosie in his arms.  “You said she had a fever, John?  She doesn’t feel warm to me.”

“That’s good.  If she’s cool even after the medicine’s worn off, that means her fever broke.”

Sherlock kissed the top of Rosie’s head, rubbing her back.  “It is good.  That means she’ll sleep uninterrupted all night as per usual.”  He gave John a significant look, and it took a moment for John to catch his meaning. 

John’s face flushed and he gave a small cough.  “That’s true.  In fact, I should point out that, um, she’ll probably sleep more peacefully if I’m not in the room disturbing her.”

Sherlock smiled triumphantly.  “Sound logic, John.  It’s settled.  Rosie gets the upstairs room to herself tonight, to sleep without being disturbed and without disturbing.”  He bounced Rosie for a few moments, then frowned.  “Just to be clear - unlike at Molly’s flat, neither of us will be kipping on the sofa.”

John grinned.  “Understood.”  He stood up and went over to them.  He kissed Rosie on her forehead, her cool skin confirming to him at her fever was gone.  Then he rose up on his toes to give Sherlock a quick, tender kiss, thrilled that he could do this now.  He took a deep steadying breath.  “You mind keeping her busy while I make dinner?”

Sherlock gave him a pleased smile before replying, “Not at all, we’re still cataloguing all her toys based on which of the five senses each of them stimulates.  That should occupy us for at least an hour.”

John beamed and gave a short nod.  As Sherlock headed to the sitting room and set Rosie down on a blanket with some toys, John set about pulling everything out that he needed for the meal he’d planned when he went to Tesco that morning.  “So how is Mycroft dealing with impending fatherhood?  I can’t even wrap my head around it.  This is the same man who saw a picture of Rosie and all he had to say, according to you, was that she looked ‘fully functioning.’”  He chuckled.

Sherlock looked up from the notes he was taking as Rosie gnawed a wooden block and then rapped it against another block.  “He’s trying to be nonchalant about it, but I can tell he’s terrified.  He all but said that he will need my help.  I told him that I would have felt just as wrongfooted were I in his position a year ago.  But after my experiences with Rosie…well, I gave him some insights that I think helped to calm him.  When I was leaving he seemed positively….”  Sherlock wrinkled his nose, “grateful.”

John grinned as he started chopping vegetables.  “Of course he’s grateful.  He’s lucky to have you be there for him.  I know I still feel thankful to have your help with Rosie.  As good as you are with her, I know you’ll be brilliant with your little niece or nephew.  Poor Rosie’s going to be jealous now that your attention will be divided.”

Sherlock’s head came up sharply.  “Surely you don’t believe that my devotion to her would decrease to the point that she would notice?  Enough that she would become distressed?  I would never…John, you must understand what Rosie means to me.  I was the first person to know that she even existed.  And the first to lay eyes on her when she was crowning in the back of your car.  Not to mention that she is the child of the man I love more than anyone else in the world.”

John was struck both by the vehement reaction to a comment that was meant lightly, and by the tug on his heart that Sherlock’s words gave him.  “Oh, Sherlock.  I think you misunderstand my joke.  It’s a fact of life that when more kids are born into a family there’s always an adjustment period.  Because like it or not, your time does become divided.  But I never meant to imply that your love would be divided.   There’s an old saying that hearts grow bigger to accommodate the new loved ones.” 

Sherlock still looked pensive.  “I understand that from a practical standpoint I will have less time for Rosie if I spend time with Mycroft’s child.  But Rosie _will_ get the majority of my time.  And I will love her more.”  John raised his eyebrows at this, but Sherlock’s expression was rebellious.  “I know it’s considered a bit not good to play favorites with children.  But that assumes I view myself as an uncle to Rosie and should therefore treat her and Mycroft’s child the same.”  Sherlock looked down at Rosie and caressed the back of her head as she gleefully slammed blocks together.  “Rosie isn’t just a niece to me.  She feels more like my…”  He suddenly stopped, then swallowed and shrugged, pretending as if he couldn’t articulate just what she meant to him.

John knew better. “You were going to say more like your daughter.” 

Sherlock worried his lower lip with his teeth, refusing to meet John’s gaze.  “I suppose that was inappropriate.”

John shook his head.  “The only thing wrong with it is the ‘like’ part.  She isn’t ‘like’ your daughter, Sherlock.  She _is_ your daughter.  From her perspective, and mine, you are just as much her parent as I am.  You have been ever since we moved back in.”

Sherlock’s eyes were wide as he looked up at John.  Then his face crumpled and he ducked his head.  John abandoned his meal prep and went over to Sherlock and put his arm around him.  “Hey, are you okay?”

Sherlock nodded his head quickly.  His voice rough, he said, “It’s just been… an overwhelming day.  Full of happy surprises.”

John gave his shoulder a squeeze.  “Yeah, it’s been a bit overwhelming for me, too.  In fact, I’m way too distracted to make dinner.  I can’t take my eyes off you and I’ll probably slice off a finger.  Maybe we can get takeout tonight, celebrate our new status.  Then tomorrow we’ll have the curry I was prepping?”  Sherlock nodded his agreement.  He leaned into John, lifting his face for a kiss which John obliged. 

After a few steamy minutes, John stood up and went to the kitchen and began taking out containers to put away the veg he’d already chopped.  “Maybe we should invite Mycroft and Molly to have the curry with us tomorrow night.  Congratulate them on _their_ new status and tell them our ideas about the nanny and 221C.”  Sherlock’s lip curled in disgust and John laughed.  “Look at it this way, you can gloat that Mycroft wasn’t able to keep his secret from me after all.”

Sherlock cocked his head, his eyes starting to gleam.  “That’s true.  And now that you and I are together, he can no longer claim that you aren’t really family.”

John nodded absently, though he really didn’t agree.  A boyfriend may be a step closer to family than a friend, but it still wasn’t enough.  Everything, he wanted _everything_.  Giving himself a mental shake, he picked up his mobile.  “Since we’re having Indian tomorrow, Chinese is the way to go tonight.”  Sherlock smiled his agreement and picked up his notebook to continue cataloging Rosie’s toys.

*

The next day at the clinic, John went for a walk at lunch time, feeling more light-hearted than he could ever remember.  Last night had been… _fantastic_.  And bless Rosie, she’d not made a peep upstairs the entire time.  He was already eagerly awaiting what they might get up to tonight, though trying not to think about it too much lest his body start to advertise his thoughts to the world at large.  As he contemplated where he would go for lunch, he felt his mobile buzz in his pocket and pulled it out.

**Mycroft and Molly have agreed to dinner tonight.  There goes my hope that they’d have a prior commitment.  SH**

**_Did you tell Mycroft about the change in our relationship?_ **

**No, I want to see how long it takes him to deduce it. SH**

**_I will go ahead and guess 10 minutes._ **

**It will take him 5.2 minutes.  I would usually say 3.4 minutes, but Molly will probably distract him when she starts chattering the moment I open the door.  SH**

John chuckled.  He didn’t even try to counter, Sherlock was probably right.  He looked up from the mobile and blinked as he saw that across the street was a jewelry shop.  Without even thinking about what he was doing, he looked both ways and then trotted over to the shop.  He looked in the window.  One of the displays featured wedding rings.  He took a deep breath.  Was he really contemplating this?  Surely it was too soon? 

John smiled fondly as he felt reminded of a moment a long time ago when he had the same thought about looking at a flat with a stranger.  ‘Is that it?’ he asked himself.  ‘We’ve only just declared our love for each other and I’m gonna go look at rings?’ He chuckled at his little joke, but then sobered.  Following his instincts back then had led him to the love of his life.  Maybe he should trust them.  

His mobile buzzed in his pocket.  Already smiling at what Sherlock may be texting him this time, he hurried to read the screen. 

**He wears a size T.  His skin is sensitive to silver, so I’d recommend either gold or platinum.  MH**

John stared in disbelief.  What the…?  Oh.  Bloody CCTV.  John wondered why Mycroft was spying on him.  Then he remembered that when Sherlock invited Mycroft and Molly to dinner, he would have mentioned that John now knew his secret.  Maybe he was worried John would spill the beans to someone else.  Instead he’s found John staring at wedding rings with a very moony expression on his face.  John’s mobile buzzed again.

**This time I fully expect the happy announcement at the end of the week.  MH**

John sighed, and typed a response.

**_You’re assuming he’ll say yes.  He doesn’t have a high opinion of matrimony._ **

**Don’t be coy.  We both know he’ll accept.  Probably with tears in his eyes.  Mrs. Hudson was absolutely right, he is more emotional.  MH**

John pressed his lips together as he felt his own emotions welling up.

**_Speaking of happy announcements…congratulations.  :)_ **

John smirked as he waited for the reply.

**I should be annoyed that my brother didn’t respect my wishes for secrecy.  But since you are family now, I graciously accept your felicitations.  MH**

John melted as he read the text.  He didn’t know why it made him so happy for Mycroft of all people to call him family.  But he remembered how lovely last Christmas with the Holmes family had been…well, before Sherlock drugged everyone.  He’d been enchanted with all of them, and now he and Rosie would get to be a part of that family.  The sudden warmth that exploded in his chest propelled him through the doors of the jewelry shop. 

*

**

***

Three months later, John and Sherlock were married.  It was a smaller and less formal affair than John’s previous wedding.  Sherlock didn’t want all the bells and whistles, just what he considered to be the three most important things - vows, cake, and dancing.  It should have felt weird to be doing this again so soon, especially with many of the same people in attendance.  But it was like he’d been given a second chance, and he was getting it right this time.  He couldn’t help but notice that both his sister and Mike Stamford were there, after being absent at the other one. 

When the ceremony was over and the guests were on their way to the reception, the Holmes family hung back in the church, ostensibly to take pictures.  What they were really doing was witnessing a second marriage ceremony between Mycroft and Molly. 

There had been no question in Mycroft’s mind that he would marry Molly, but he was still working out a way to keep her protected from his enemies.  For now, they kept their secret.  As far as anyone knew, Molly was going to be a single mom and she’d be moving into the building where her newlywed friends lived so they could raise their children together.  It was a temporary solution, but he knew his son would be in safe hands.  They’d found out just the week before that it would be a boy.  Sherlock reacted with indifference to knowing the gender.  He was more concerned about whether the child would have Mycroft’s hair. 

Everyone arrived at the reception in a giddy mood.  Even Mycroft looked happy.  Sherlock snidely remarked it was because he was looking forward to wedding cake.  John raised his eyebrows and Sherlock had the grace to blush, given his own love of confections.  John leaned over and gave Sherlock a steamy kiss.  Then he proposed that they hold out as long as possible on cutting the cake, to see how agitated Mycroft would get.  John loved the gleam that came to Sherlock’s eyes at the suggestion.  He felt like pinching himself to see if he would wake up from this dream. He’d wanted _everything_.  And he got everything. 

When the music started, Sherlock leaned in and whispered in his ear, “John, please dance with me.  I’ve wanted to dance with you so much.  You’ve no idea.”  John smiled warmly.  Here was the best part.  As much as he’d wanted to _have_ everything, it was nothing compared to being able to _give_ everything to Sherlock and to Rosie.  John took Sherlock’s hand and led him out to the dance floor, then enveloped his new husband in his arms and swept him around the room, marveling at the smile on Sherlock’s face that said John was everything to _him_.

**Author's Note:**

> I had no idea until I googled it that in the UK, ring sizes are letters, not numbers. Thanks google!


End file.
